Things I learned...

This will be the last of my Italian blogs. I’ve been back over a month now – and as is the way with most holidays, the memories have started to recede already. It’s a bit sad really. I look back at some of my photos and wonder, was I really there?

I would go again in a heartbeat though– if someone could tell me a sure-fire way to avoid the ghastliness of long distance flying. I was still reeling two weeks later from that last Eastward leg, but more about that later.

Anyway, I learned a lot from this trip – not only about Italy and travelling alone, but also about myself.

1) I learned that I was not easily intimidated and was prepared to ‘have a go’ at most things.

I felt very safe in Italy and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend it to other solo female travellers.

I may have acquired some survival Italian, but honestly, all I could have gotten by very easily with just Hello, Goodbye, Excuse me, Please and Thankyou – and a smile.

Only part of my time away was spent on my own though. The other part was with two organised tours. The longer, privately organised tour was with Father Joe and Michela and I’ve already talked about that, and the two-day trip to Pompeii, Sorrento and Capri was booked through a big travel company.

I think that the smaller, more customised groups are the way to go if you ever have a choice. The food will be better and the trip less … umm commercially driven. The Pompeii/ Sorrento trip, while having wonderful scenery, included two factory tours – one for cameo jewellery and the other for marquetry that were too opportunistic for my taste.

Travelling on your own can be a two edged sword however. If you travel on your own, you can do things on the spur of the moment far more readily than if you have to persuade your travelling companion/s to come along too. It’s fair to say that there were several things that I probably wouldn’t have done if I’d been with others. My climb to the top of the cupola of Il Duomo springs to mind, as does my pleasant hour or two spent wandering through the Florence leather markets, where I lingered where I chose and stopped for food when I fancied.

But on the other hand, when I witnessed a fireworks display over Vesuvius at midnight from my Sorrento hotel balcony, I would have loved to have been able to share that experience with a travelling companion.

2) I learned that digital photography fundamentally changes the holiday experience.

In the old days of proper film driven cameras, taking holiday snaps was very uncertain. You had to wait for the prints to come back from the chemist shop – then discovering that perhaps your exposure was off, or that your hand wobbled at a critical moment , or wondering where the Hell you’d taken that particular shot, or why you needed 15 shots of the same castle ruin (True story – Dover Castle 1984).

No, modern digital photography changes all of that.

With digital cameras, you can adjust and edit as you go. It's a case of ‘Nah no good, Ditch that. Yep keep this one.’

You can even show off your shots while they’re still in your camera, edit them waiting for a train (as I did in Corniglia),and later, quickly upload them to the net so you can share them with friends and family back home, so long as you can find an internet café.

One downside is that digital cameras can be energy hungry. On my first day in Venice, I discovered that my filming the bells chiming in San Marco square totally sucked my one and only battery dry within a minute or two. I resolved to limit myself to still photography from that point on and bought a new battery for emergencies. It sure came in handy. I had a tendency to run low on power while in inaccessible places. As you can imagine, needing a fresh battery on the top of a cathedral roof is not something you want to do without a fully charged spare in your pocket.

I also learned that I have a heavy right hand when it comes to grabbing a quick shot. I had SO many wonky horizons, it wasn’t funny. But thanks to a wonderful little computer programme called Rotation Pilot, I was able to salvage some very dodgy photos and ended up with mostly usable shots.

3) I learned to thank my lucky stars.

Australia is a fantastically lucky country. I was shocked at how many beggars there were on the streets. We'd been advised to walk past, but it made me uncomfortable for many reasons.

I had several near catastrophes – where things could have gone horribly wrong for me – but thankfully did not.

In that category were:

a) almost missing the train from Rome to Florence. (note to self – go by the train number, NOT the destination.).

b) stepping off a kerb into Roman traffic and looking right (instead of left) and feeling the whoosh of air on my stomach as a car whizzed past me with only millimetres to spare.

On the clumsy ‘You -won’t-do-that-again’ category we had:

a) gashing my thumb tip with a razor in my toiletry bag while reaching for my makeup while hurrying to get ready for the opera at La Scala. Picture me - All dressed up in my best duds and with a sonking great bandaid on my finger. Uh - so not the way I wished to be seen that night.

b) And worse, I slipped over while stepping into a bath and was lucky not to do anything worse than bruise my ‘groinical’ region (which was still quite spectacularly colourful weeks later- but you'll have to take my word for that.)

4) I learned to appreciate the joys of the unexpected along the way.

I discovered that the more I anticipated a sight or event, the more likely I was to be disappointed by it. Conversely I found the greatest pleasures in the most unexpected things, such as: the fabulous Bronzino exhibition, the smell of freshly grated nutmeg during my pasta cookery class, and the taste of grapefruit gelato.

I had no expectations of Capri and many for Pompeii. Guess which turned out to be the better day for me?

I’d waited forty years to see Pompeii and unfortunately I think I lucked out on the tour guide, who somehow made the tour more about her – and not the poor folk whose lives we were examining. She neither captured my imagination nor stirred my soul – and I dearly wanted to be moved by the history of the place.

The truth was I was ready to leave well before our time was up; the heat and the boring tour did me in.

But the next day on Capri - with the fabulous Marco as our guide - was a pleasure from start to finish, because I went with absolutely no expectations. Even though we were not able to visit the Blue Grotto due to choppy weather conditions, we had a wonderful day. I was entranced by the views of the Bay of Naples from the chairlift at Anacapri, swept away by the smells that wafted up from the forest floor, as we skimmed the treetops with our feet, and was captivated by the bright blue of the water - so different from the inky blue black of Ligurian coast – or anywhere else for that matter.

5) I learned that it is a small, small world.

This is deadset true. It was our last day in Rome and I was walking across St Peter’s Square after leaving the Sistine chapel, when I spotted a familiar face queuing for the Vatican Post Office. It was a senior RN from work!

We were amazed at the coincidence. Neither of us knew each other well, certainly not well enough to know that the other was travelling, But there we were –10, 000 miles from home and literally passing within metres of each other. Freaky huh?

Folk were generally intrigued that I was from Tasmania – and my little Tassie Tiger cap was a hit until I lost it in a Rome restaurant. :( I was bemused and amused that some of Fr. Joe’s US tour group didn’t believe that the Tasmanian Devil really existed - not that he looks much like the cartoon character though - and took great pleasure in showing them actual photos of the creature. I didn't dare start about the fact that the Tasmanian Devil and the Tasmanian Tiger are not the same. Oh nooo. Way too complicated

I did meet one Italian at least who actually been to Tasmanial. Our cooking teacher in Florence had an offsider called Marco – and he’d visited Tasmania and sailed in the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race some years before. I’ve told him he must stop by next time he’s Downunder.

6) I learned you REALLY need to keep your sense of humour front and centre when you’re in transit.

I think it helps if you can go with the flow. There is no point stressing out about things that are outside your control – such as public transport in all its forms and long waits spent queueing for tickets or even gelati – even if the pay off with the latter is oh-so-worth it.

That being said I was frustrated that I’d missed the train from Corniglia to Manarola by the length of a platform - and then found that the next train wouldn't be coming for another hour and a half (instead of the expected 10 minutes). Now since this particular railway platform was 300 steps below the town – and had a passably pretty view overlooking the Ligurian Sea and, I decided to sit tight. I figured that there were plenty of worse places I could be stuck.

I wish I could say that I brushed off the long eastward bound flight from Abu Dhabi to Sydney as easily as that wait in Corniglia. I’d done fine with the westward flights. But this one was gruelling with a capital GRU.

What I might do next time is arrange an overnight stopover somewhere in Asia to let my body clock adjust – or maybe I should simply get a hold of some drugs to knock me out.

I have one particularly vivid memory of that horrendous flight. We entered Australian airspace over the NW coast of Western Australia in the middle of the night – two am of thereabouts – and the personal entertainment console on the headrest in front of me was keeping me up to date, telling me things like:

a) how fast we were travelling (not fast enough),

b) how cold it was outside ( bloody freezing). But it was hot and stuffy inside.

c) where we were relative to Mecca (WTF – oh wait, this is a Middle Eastern airline) and

d) how many hours to our destination (sob… Five. More. Freaking. Hours!)

I was close to despair, being unable to

a) escape the dry and stale atmosphere,

b) unpuff my ankles or de-vein my red eyes,

c) maintain my fluids without gulping down three or four of the piddly little drinks at a time, IF an attendant was passing by.

d) stretch my legs without having to clamber over my seat mates,

e) ease my backside or unwedge my knees from the back of the seat in front of me.

Right at that moment, I was convinced that this flight would never end – and then I had two domestic flights to look forward to. I would have wept, but I was so dry I don’t think my eyelids could make tears any more.

My long journey home had started at 9.30 am on Tuesday, with me lugging my suitcase ON MY BACK down three flights of a skinny circular staircase (rope handrail if you please) in a house high in Vernazza, then by train to Milan, bus to the Airport, then planes times two, bus in Sydney, two domestic planes and finally – unwilling to wait for a shuttle bus, a cab from the airport to my front door at 2 pm on Thursday.

I have NEVER been so glad to see my house as when I opened the door after 40 something hours of solid travelling.

And what greeted me?

Nick saying with genuine surprise ‘Oh you’re back today!’ and a very strong mildewy smell hitting me between the eyes right at the front door. How could he have not noticed this? The first thing I did was track down the week-old damp towel hiding in the laundry and shoved it into the washing machine. Ughhh

Not surprisingly – even though I was desperately tired, I was not about to sit down. I prowled around the house for hours, feeling vaguely unsettled.

7) Lastly I learned ( well reminded, really ) that Jetlag is a funny thing.

I’d truly be fine one minute, then be suddenly overcome with a wave of fatigue mid- morning or mid afternoon – and then I’d be wide awake at midnight- and again at four am.

My sleep patterns took some time to recover. I was waking at 4 am all through that first week, usually waking feeling very disoriented

The first night I woke, utterly convinced that I’d been left behind somewhere on some form of public transport. It took me several minutes of heart-pounding panic before I worked out I was in my own bedroom and that the inky blackness and lack of engine or people noises were actually OK.

A few more WTFery moments.

1 )The opera I saw at La Scala used the ‘old switching identities’ plot device, not once but twice. One of the mixed-up pairs was a lady and her maid. Pretty standard fare for opera really - except that in this production the lady was black – and her ‘doppelganger’ maid was not! I guess that folk in ‘opera land’ are either colour-blind or not very observant. Lol.

I have to confess I am not a huge fan of opera. The plots are SO slow and the characters seem to repeat themselves an awful lot. There was one duet towards the end of the play where the characters told us they were feeling confused - over and over again - for at least ten minutes. It was all I could do not to yell. ‘All right We get it. Just get on with it, will ya!’ But you’ll be pleased to know that I maintained my ladylike decorum.

2) I’d never seen a three-way beer/wine spigot before.. Beer came out of the central spigot, white wine came from the spigot on the left and red from the right. That was pretty darn nifty I thought.

3) None of the hotel rooms had tea or coffee making facilities. As great as Italian coffee is, there were some times when I just wanted something hot and wet to drink in my room. Instant would have been fine ( but is probably anathema to the Italians)

4) While queuing at the check- in counter to return to Oz, there, was a lady ahead of me who was sent away with a suitcase that weighed about 35 kg ( 77lb) She was only a little thing too. I don’t know how she even carried it. Unless she was able to divest herself of about a third of her load, she was going to be facing a massive excess baggage bill.

5) I was disconcerted to find that video cameras were mounted on the underside of our aircraft, presumably so that the passengers could all watch the landing - and admire the pilot’s skill –or simply watch the ground rushing up to meet us. Uh … no thanks. Looking out the window will do me just fine. I might even keep my eyes shut during the landing thankyou.

Well, that is about it for this blog. I adored my trip even with the harrowing return flight. It was worth it to be visiting new places, eating new foods and seeing some of the world's richest history, art and architecture first hand.

I want to visit Europe again, if not next year, then certainly the year after. I’m currently very taken with the idea of a leisurely European river cruise. Up the Rhine, down the Seine or along the Danube anyone?

A little bit of Culture...

...goes a long way.

View from the Tivoli Gardens

If you like architecture dating back hundreds if not thousands of years, mega big sculpture and five hundred year old paintings, Italy is the place to go. It is everywhere. You can't escape it, even if you try.

I first noticed this on the train from Milan to Venice, only a few hours after touching down at Malpensa airport. I might have been tired, but I noticed that the scenery wasn't greatly different from what I was used to here in rural Tasmania. The trees were just as green, the hills as gently rolling, suburban houses - albeit in the warm browns and yellows I will forever associate with Tuscany - lined unremarkable roads. But then I would see a

monastery clinging to a distant hillside, or spot a country church (complete with bells in the belfry) and I knew I was no longer in Oz, where something is regarded as really old if it dates back to the 19th Century.

I guess it's a matter of scale.

If I might digress a moment. I showed our tour guide Michela and her husband the two booklets on Tasmania that I'd brought with me- and she was entranced by its natural beauty. When she returned the booklets, she told me. 'We've decided. We're coming.'

I told her I'd put the kettle on for them.

As a further digression, Michela was a wonderful guide. She shared her knowledge of Italian history - and there is a lot of it - plus geography and art, with a lot of patience and and a heap of passion. Which is what you want in a guide.

Some of our other guides ranged from extremely humorous (in Pisa) , super cute and charming (in Sorrento) to downright fed up(in Pompeii).

Here's a picture of the cute one, Marco. Well I'm not going to bother with the grumpy one, am I?

Our guide, Marco, on the way to Capri.

But back to Michela. She was our personal guide in Rome and we went to places that all had some artistic or historical (and religious ) significance. Here are just a few:

The Tivoli Gardens. This is full of terraces, fountains and lots of steps. It seemed to be a popular destination for Italian families on a Sunday afternoon. I felt a bit sorry for the folk bringing children in strollers.

The Catacombs. 2000 year old tombs (thankfully empty these days) of the early Christians. There was an underground chapel - and not surprisingly, the acoustics were superb. There was a beautiful fresco of two saints praying together in one tomb. It was very simple and rather touching.

St Peters. The immensity of this place has to be seen to be believed. But everything is to scale - which is why it is such a shock when you walk in. Let me see if I can explain.

What appears to be a normal sized statue of Mary has a cherub at her feet that is over 6 feet tall. Which must make her about 30 feet tall. But the crazy thing is that a 30 foot statue doesn't look out of place in the basilica - because the whole building is in proportion to that.

Check out this photo http://www.flickr.com/photos/79925372@N00/392987253/ It will give you an idea.

Even when we were on our own in Rome, we found the most amazing sights on our own. We'd opted for a hop-on hop-off bus to save our feet.

It was mind blowing to have the the Piazza del Popoli, the Spanish Steps and the Trevi fountain all within one bus stop of each other. Then even better, just a few stops on, we were in the ancient part of Rome and ... bang there was the Collosseum right in front of us. You couldn't miss it. We had lunch in a cute little cafe virtually in its shadow.

See you can't get away from it. In Rome, history is all around you.

The Collosseum. The holes you can see are where the marble cladding was secured to the stone.

The Trevi Fountain. It's completely OTT

The Spanish Steps. No, I wasn't tempted to climb them.

Piazza del Popoli. I loved the symmetry of these paired churches. We saw two men on Segway scooters zipping up and down the road between them. I don't think that Romans are intimidated in the least by the history of their city.

Now for a bit of a whinge. I have to confess that the Sistine chapel left me a bit cold. There were several reasons for that. One was that it was a grey overcast day and the chapel relies largely on natural light to illuminate the ceiling. Since the ceiling is very high, it was difficult to see much detail.

The second reason was that you have to go through the entire Vatican Museum to reach the chapel. Now we were lucky, we'd pre-booked and didn't have to stand in line to get into the museum - and that line was already several hours long at ten o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday. But even so, my back was killing me by the time we'd walked through all of the various exhibits.

I defy anyone to maintain a proper appreciation of someone's life's work, when you're in pain - or to go off topic for a moment, busting to go to the loo.

All I'll say about that though, is that I spent two hours in Venice trying to locate St Pantalon's church which is famous for its painted ceiling, only to find it was closed on a Sunday! I ended up dashing into the Academy of Art - ostensibly to view room after room of medieval Altar pieces - but far more interested in the bathroom at the back of room 21.

I know I appreciated it a lot more after I came out of that room.

But back to the Sistine Chapel.

I could have overlooked my discomfort if I hadn't become totally numb to the opulence of the rooms we had to go through before we reached the chapel. There is only so much culture I can take in in one go.

The final straw was the last of the Raphael rooms. There are four, each more overblown than the one before. This will give you some idea of the magnitude.

http://www.google.com.au/images?hl=en&q=raphael%20room%20vatican%20museum&um=1&ie=UTF-8&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi&biw=1024&bih=673

So, while I was standing in that last room, simply boggling, it struck me that this room didn't have a single unadorned inch. Every section of wall, floor or ceiling was either carved, gilded, painted, or mosaic'd. I found it quite overwhelming - and not in a good way.

I actually felt myself go numb.

And so, by the time we finally reached the Sistine chapel doors- where we were reduced to shuffling forward along with 500 or so other visitors and listening to the guards loudly 'sshhing' us, clapping for our attention and hissing loudly 'no photos' - I'd had quite enough.

That said, I was still sufficiently impressed to buy myself a postcard of the ceiling. I mean, you have to, don't you?

Now, culture in Florence was very different. It's a lovely city, but not quite so over the top as Rome. I really liked it, except that I kept on getting lost. I have a permanent reminder of my wanderings, buying a lovely red leather handbag that I stumbled across at a market stall.

I loved my tour of Florence's Uffizi gallery - and our guide there gave us a wonderful run down on the development of Renaissance Art. She was able to show us paintings I'd only ever seen in books. For my money, The Birth of Venus and Primavera by Botticelli were worth the price of admission alone.

I also took a tour that walked the length of the Uffizi's famous Vasari Corridor. It served two functions. One was as an escape route for the Medici family across the river over to the Pitti Palace. But it was also used as a loooong art gallery, and contains a kilometre's worth of self portraits of some of the most famous artists who ever lived. Portraits are still being added to this day.

While I expected to be impressed by Michelangelo's David at the Academia del Arte - and I was, there was another sculpture of his that I thought was even more remarkable, especially considering it is unfinished.

It was quite near David, and I thought it looked like a man of stone trying to pull himself out of the marble. I loved it.

I wish the photo was better, but I took it before I realised that cameras were banned (whoops) and didn't get a chance to get a better one.

Another unexpected highlight was the opportunity to see a collection of Bronzino painting in the Strozzi Palace across town. This was a fixed period exhibition that had been curated from museums around the world.

This is one picture from that collection and I bought a postcard of it. I think it is simply gorgeous - and I had to stop myself from reaching out to touch the fabric of her dress, simply because it looked so real.

Bronzino was the court artist for the Medici family. He was a busy chap - judging from the size of the collection.

I know I've only touched the surface of what is there to see - or even what I managed to take in. I haven't even mentioned the glorious mosaics and the sculptures in the Medici chapel, or the amazing statue of a flayed alive St Bartholomew in the Duomo in Milan.

They might have to wait until next time.

My three top WTFery moments.

It doesn't matter how worldly we think we are when we travel, there will always be things that make our jaws drop.

Here are my top three.

1 Landing in Abu Dhabi

Our Airbus landed in Abu Dhabi (UAE) just before dawn and I was glad to get off the plane after being cooped up in the dry and airless cabin for about six hours. This time there was no air bridge to the terminus, so we were taken out via the the rear exit down the stairs, and stepped straight into a wave of absolute heat and humidity. I swear my knees were buckling - and the sun hadn't even risen yet.

We were quickly ushered onto a flat based bus and once on board, lined up like 80 or so vertical sardines - all strap hanging. (I can safely say that NO ONE wanted to sit at this point) However, the biggest thing I noticed was the powerful air conditioning forcing down a blanket of cold air over us. That was the good bit.

Suddenly, while we're driving from the plane to the terminus, I noticed condensation trickle down the window - on the outside.

Woahhh, now that's not something you see every day.

2 Parking Italian style.

I was on a bus in Milan and this very creative style of parking caught my eye.

Yes you're right. There is angle parking on the grass AND parallel parking together.

And no, I have NO idea how the cars on the grass can possibly get out first.

This is what else I saw in one bus trip: cars parked nose to nose on the same side of the street - that is unless one of those teensy Smart cars is backed in between them.

Double parking occurred pretty much everywhere and angle parking seemed to be up to individual preference of L-R or R-L. It looked like herring bone stitch in some streets. One of the oddest things was two cars parked T- bone style on a small painted traffic island while cars drove around them.

An Aussie parking inspector would have a field day over here. His ticket book would be empty in minutes.

I've reckon if you give the Italian motorist an inch, he'll try to park a car in it.

Having said all that, I think the Smart cars were incredibly cute, as are the Vespas that zip through the traffic.

I would love either, but there is no way I would try to drive in Italy; it is just way too scary for li'l ole me.

3 Italian live TV.

I'm not sure what cracked me up more: the show that was a bizarre cross between 'What's my Line and Deal or No Deal', or the talent show for little kids where the leggy female backup dancers came out prancing and gyrating in numbers that seemed to be in inverse proportion to the talent of the child.

Let me tell you about the second one first. You need to imagine a precocious 5 year old warbling an off-key-version of the old( ancient ) standard 'Cheek to Cheek' in the centre of the stage while an absolute flock of be-feathered dancers cavorted and wriggled behind her.

No wonder the audience applauded like mad. I couldn't watch more than ten minutes of this one. It was far too distracting.

The other show had the fascination of a slow motion train wreck. The premise is that the contestant has to match up a list of 10 professions with a group of 10 random individuals (from the studio audience I suspect) who are standing in a row - police line up style - one at a time and in a some kind of prearranged order.

While the contestant deliberated the match, he or she was encouraged to do so aloud and to examine the matchee's clothing, hands for calluses and or jewellery, arm muscles and/ or shoes or whatever - and to give their reasoning why they think ( for example) that the buff young man from Naples might be the airport luggage handler.

Once they've locked in the answer, the matchee hands over a sealed envelope to the host, and a value in Euros is revealed. I'm guessing that the less obvious the match, the more money it was worth. But I might just be cynical.

So when we found out that the potential baggage handler's envelope contained a very large amount, we knew it was not a good sign.

Because, if the contestant got it wrong, he or she lost everything that had been won to that point and would have rebuild the total from the money left in the pool.

Once that was done we were given the big reveal and Boy, do they milk it for every moment of suspense. The matchee stands in the spotlight and the camera circles him/her for a good minute to the sound of a ticking clock. I didn't dare look away for fear of missing a twitch or a smile or some kind of clue as to the answer. It seems to go on forever and I swear no one is breathing when the matchee finally announces: No, I am not the Baggage Handler.'

Even though I was appalled by its superficiality, I was fascinated by this show. I admit that I really did want to find out what this young studly fellow really did for a living. And guess what? He was the baby sitter. . Who'd have thought?

Food Glorious (Italian) food

The best

Let me start by saying that the bar is set pretty high for food in Italy when the McDonald's restaurants have gourmet filled rolls and pastries on the menu alongside their Big Macs or in this case a 'Mozzarillo', which comes with a slice of Mozzarella on the all-beef pattie.

I had some wonderful food during my three weeks there ranging from street fare to top class restaurants. Right at the top of the list of my favourites is the gelati. Oh. My. God. it is SO good and everyone ( yes everyone) eats it. You can order it in a cup or a cone. I always went for the cone because let's face it, it doesn't look too classy licking out the cup right at the end. But o

h my word, it is satisfying to pop the last bit of cone into your mouth and know that you've had the last drop off yummy goodness.

These are my top three flavours:

1. pink grapefruit (which I paired with lemon... yum)
2. melon (cantaloupe) Oh yes. mmm (tips head back and drools like Homer Simpson.)
3. amarena. (cherry mixed with vanilla) It simply OOZED extravagance.

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There was a period BC ( before children) when I only used to have black coffee for breakfast, but since the kids came along, I've been a cereal and toast kind of gal. That would only change if I was at a hotel and was offered a full English Breakfast, because as far as I'm concerned, any meal I don't have to cook myself is a bonus!

However, breakfast is quite a different proposition in Italian hotels. Fruit juice - blood orange or grapefruit - seem to be pretty standard - and are quite sweet compared with Australian juices.

There is a token effort with cereal and fruit, but the main event is the cold meat, cheese and hard boiled eggs that are eaten with rolls, and the filled sweet pastries and tarts that I would associate more with desserts. Often the hotels will serve fresh fruit and yoghurt too. Coffee served with a jug of steamed milk is pretty standard and I usually got two cups out of my pot. I have to say that a good Italian breakfast was a fine way to start to the day.

The very best breakfast I had was in Venice. I don't think I will ever forget the fresh bread roll that I filled with a scrape of salt free butter, a generous smear of Philly cream cheese, a slice of ham and a two or three black olives. Oh My. It was good - and I enjoyed it even more when I had it again the next day.

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I was in the back streets of Venice when I bought my first slice of pizza. It only cost me two euros there, but when I bought the exact same thing near the Rialto bridge, it cost me four. I guess location is everything.

When you buy it by the slice, you get it on a square of white butcher's paper and it's all a bit precarious eating it on the go. I was amazed that I didn't end up wearing mine all down my front because the hot melted cheese had no grip at all on the tomato base.

As a rule, toppings are kept very simple. I usually went for the mushroom one - and that was all it had on it after the tomato and cheese - a few scattered slices of mushroom. Back home there would be 6,7,8 toppings - sometimes more on a typical pizza

Now on the other hand, the sky's the limit with pasta. There are so many shapes and flavours and regional specialities that it's hard to keep track of things. Our guide, Father Joe, certainly knew the best places to go for terrific pasta and sauces.

My top five pasta dishes:

1. Black ravioli filled with sea bass with a light tomato sauce (Venice)
2. Risotto al funghi (Lake Maggiore)
3. Pesto lasagne. (Portofino) This was two sheets of pasta and sauce. We actually folded it on itself to give it the appearance of more layers. It still tasted good though.
4. 'Strangle the priest pasta' with a zucchini flower sauce (Rome) Magic
5. Trofie with pesto (Vernazza)

I may have to put a pasta maker on my Christmas list. It will be very hard to go back to 'bought' pasta after this.

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Sunday lunch in the outdoor patio of a restaurant in the countryside on a glorious Autumn day is a remarkably civilised way to spend three or more hours. We saw families - many with young children - at this lovely place on the Appian Way.

I don't think my kids would cope with sitting still that long even now. We sat down to four or maybe five courses (none of them huge, thankfully) and we knew we were eating truly authentic Roman fare.

The standout for me was the arrival of the two suckling pigs that were baked crispy brown. I can just about hear the crackling break when the waiter tapped it with his knife blade.

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The dessert that still makes my mouth water is the Panna Cotta we had in Pisa at a sidewalk cafe. It was served with 'fruits of the forest' and it had the most divinely smooth and even texture. It was a little slice of heaven.

Technically it's only cooked cream mixed with gelatine - but I'm told it is quite tricky to get it right. I found out that the hard way when I ordered it at another restaurant a few days later. It was rubbery on the bottom and runny on the top. Not so nice.

Now I can't finish this blog without mentioning two other tasty morsels that don't quite fit in anywhere else:

1 We went to a restaurant that is near the Pope's summer residence. It was a huge meal and quite lovely - but one of the antipasto dishes was particularly memorable: a thick slice of potato topped with a slice of gorgonzola and a sliver of carrot. it was only two bites big, but oh my... it was so delicious my eyes crossed for a moment.

2 The other was my introduction to Limoncello on my last night in Rome! Hoo boy, it packs a massive punch. It's made with some incredibly overproof alchohol and lemon zest ( and sugar). I would have loved to bring back a bottle or three, but all of the bottles had long, fragile looking necks and I wasn't prepared to risk it in my luggage. Alcoholic lemon scented clothing anyone?

Half of my time away was spent with a privately arranged tour, the other half was spent on my own. I am grateful to the tour organisers: Father Joe Villa, his brother John and our local guide Michela, who exposed our group to some amazing foods that I suspect the average tourist might miss. I had some less than stellar meals when I was travelling on my own.

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and the worst

Typical tourist fare at Il Duomo Florence: set menu, four courses 9.95. I should have been suspicious. It was too close to the main tourist attraction and it was far too cheap.

But I was too footsore and hungry to look for anywhere better.

I'll grant that the service there was quick - and the beer was good. The waitress was back within minutes of my order: antipasto, salad, pasta and lasagne. Umm the only trouble was, it was all on the same plate.

Oh dear.

But I guess you have to have the bad to better appreciate the good.

Next time: My WTFery moments

I'm baaackkk

I've been back home for nearly two weeks now and it's safe to say I'm over my jetlag, almost recovered from the cold which stirred up my asthma, and not quite so traumatised by the memories of the seemingly never- ending flight from Abu Dhabi.

I've decided I need to focus on the good things about my trip because they really did outweigh everything else. I had a fantastic time. Everything went to plan: the weather was good, all of my bookings were honoured, planes and trains left on time and the hotels I arranged myself were all very comfortable.

Knowing that a blow-by-blow run down on three weeks in Italy would be as boring as batshit, I will give you instead:

Three moments that took my breath away.

1 My cooking class in Tuscany

There was a very special moment that afternoon. Our class was being conducted in the kitchen of a very old house in the village of S. Donato in Collina, which is half way between Florence and Siena. We were learning to make ravioli and our instructor was preparing the filling of spinach, ricotta and parmesan. We were drinking chianti while we worked and I could feel the sun at my back. It really was a glorious day.

There was a gentle breeze coming in through the window, and every time I turned around this is the view that faced me. I recall thinking that things couldn't get much better.

Then Alex (our instructor) started to grate some fresh nutmeg... and somehow they were. Bliss.

The ravioli were delicious by the way.

2 The Pisa Baptistry echo.

The Pisa Baptistry is a large domed building that stands near the Leaning Tower and the Cathedral (which is a bit wonky too - but you have to look hard to spot it.)

The Baptistry has the most superb acoustics thanks to its perfectly domed roof. Every half hour the guard comes out to the exact centre of the structure, calls for silence and waits until you can hear a pin drop.

Then he sings a single note and it echos around the dome for about ten seconds. Before that first note has a chance to fade away completely, he sings a different note ... and then another. Before we knew it, the most exquisite harmonies were being built and I was standing there with shivers running up and down my spine. It was absolutely spellbinding.

3 The chairlift ride from Anacapri.

This chairlift takes passengers on a six minute ride to the very top of the Isle of Capri and gives the most amazing views over the whole island, the town of Anacapri and the Bay of Naples.

The ride starts like any other chairlift amid lots of bouncing and grinding of cogs, but they are left behind within a minute. The rest of the journey is spent in near silence. No-one speaks. Even the people on the return trip don't say a word as you pass them by.

We started by passing low over the back yards of a few houses, but then we angled upwards. Soon my feet were skimming the tops of oak trees and there were wonderful scents of flowering trees wafting upwards as we passed by. I have no idea what they were, but they smelled lush and green. The higher we rose, the sparser the greenery became, but that was compensated for by the breathtaking views over the Bay.

When I reached the top I caught the eye of my companions, who had been seated just behind me. We agreed that it had been one of the most peaceful six minutes of our lives.

The return trip was lovely too, but there was something extra special about that ride up the mountain.

Honourable mention 1. Florence.

I knew that Il Duomo is the dominant feature of this city. It towers above everything else and can even be seen from the highway that bypasses the city.

But even knowing that, I was surprised to turn the corner of a narrow city street and to boom, find it literally standing right in front of me. It brought me up short.

Honourable mention 2. Rome

Our hotel was only a stone's throw from St Peter's and we had arranged to attend an early service there before the crowds were unmanageable. As our group walked towards the Basilica, the pink of the dawn light was still glowing on the dome. It was breathtaking.

The service was conducted in Pope JP2's Polish chapel- one of many chapels downstairs - and while sitting quietly at the back, I could hear chanting from another chapel to our right and a hymn being sung in German from a chapel to our left. It was an odd combination of sounds but it was actually very moving.

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Next time: The best (and worst) food.

There must be a moral in this somewhere.

Here is the story I promised.

In order for you to understand it, you need me to set the scene a little.

It was mid- summer 1992. I was about 35 weeks pregnant with baby number three, but I was still working.

People would ask me why I hadn't left at the typical 34 week mark, but I replied. 'I've got two three and a half year olds at home. Here, it's air-conditioned and I get to sit down. Where would you rather be?'

That wasn't the only reason though. I had only just resumed my duties seven months before.

Yes, you do the math.

I suspect it had something to do with the fact that we'd gone out and bought ourselves a sorely needed new bed with my first pay cheque ... (koff nuff said.)

So, faced with the prospect of a new baby in seven or eight months and a house that was already too small for two toddlers and us, we had to make a decision. We either had to move - or extend the house.

We weighed up the pros and cons: we liked the house, it was a nice neighbourhood and our neighbours were great, so we decided to stay. So, instead of paying out 10 grand just for the act of moving house, we opted to put that money towards an extension.

If we did some of the work ourselves, we figured we'd be able to add a bedroom and family room, and to also re-jig the kitchen/dining area into a more family friendly layout.

It was still going to be a huge drain on finances, current and future. I'd not been working, except for a brief locum, since the boys were born, so things had been tight for a while. But we decided to bite the bullet and increase the mortgage.

So for the next six months, every cent I earned was poured into extending the house. I honestly don't know how I juggled it all, now that I look back at that time. But each day I'd come home from work at around three, relieve the child carer I'd employed and, once the boys were down for the night ( say at about 8ish), Vaughan and I would do whatever jobs needed to be done in readiness for the builders the next day eg painting etc.

My days were compartmentalised to the nth degree: working, family, building, sleeping.

I recall we were painting something late one night and we realised it had been our Anniversary that day.

I said. 'Oh It's our Anniversary! You didn't get me anything, did you?'

To which he replied 'No, you didn't get me anything, did you?'

Me: 'No. Well that's good then.'

Him to me 'Happy Anniversary. Hand me that paintbrush.'

End of conversation.

Now we fast forward to where the story really starts,

I needed to make some curtains for the new bedroom, so that we could finally move in. A friend at work offered to help me make them, and since I'm no sewer, I was eager to accept the offer.

With our tight schedule, I had to choose the curtain material after work and that meant taking the boys with me.

This was my first mistake.

One of the department stores in town was having a sale on curtain material and hardware, so I parked as close as I could get - about two blocks away - and trooped in. Now I should point out that this department store does not have an elevator - being very old fashioned - and the curtain section was on the second floor. I admit that if the sale had not been so very good, I would have said, sod it, I'll go somewhere else.

But I was watching my pennies and the next store was even further away from my car.

I don't recall how I managed to get the twin stroller up the stairs. I think I might have unloosed them and let them clamber up the stairs, then popped them back in at the top.

That was fine for Chris. He tended to sit quietly anyway. Nick was another matter. He hadn't been diagnosed with ADHD at this stage - that was still another 4 years away. But he was VERY active this day and didn't take kindly to being strapped back into the stroller At. All.

I recall seeing him straining at his fastenings, grunting 'Nick.... off... Nick.... off.' which in Oz is not a polite thing to say. I had to tell the shop assistant that his name was Nick- and that he wasn't telling someone to 'go away'.

I decided to let him loose for a while, since there were no other customers about, and I couldn't concentrate on ANYthing with him carrying on like that.

And that was my second mistake.

Before I knew it, he was trying to climb a cushion mountain and about to tumble off. So it was Mum to the rescue - as usual.

Unfortunately he wasn't prepared to go back in the stroller quietly and fought me the whole way - so I gritted my teeth and finished the transaction as quickly as I could, while trying to hang onto a squirming child.

I'm sure that the sales staff wished me in Hades at this point.

Then we had to get ourselves back down stairs.

What a procession that was!

Nick and Chris were both crawling backwards down the stairs, bums up and heads down. I came next with bags of things. Then two sales assistants descended: one with the folded up stroller and the other carrying the curtain rod.

At the foot of the stairs, while I was setting up the stroller, Nick darted behind a jewellery cabinet with an open sliding door. He shoved in his hand and grabbed a bracelet box - which neatly slammed shut on his fingers, clam style.

Boy, did he yelp - and then shook it off.

Served him right too. He got no sympathy from me, I can tell you.

But I was beyond embarrassment by now. I just wanted to get home.

Now please remember that I was very pregnant - and my brains were pretty mushy by now - plus it was stinking hot outside.

We left the store in the late afternoon heat. Chris sat in one side of the twin stroller, the curtain paraphernalia was loaded in the other side and I pushed it along while trying to hang onto Nick's hand.

I had an idea that help might be at hand if Vaughan, who worked at a bank about a block away, could be spared. I figured it was worth a try anyway. At this point I had little to lose.

We headed in the direction of the bank, and Nick (the little scumbag) suddenly broke free as we approached the pedestrian crossing. A lady passer- by (to whom I will always be grateful) grabbed him as he flew by, preventing him from darting onto the road.

The lights then changed and we all crossed together, but no sooner than we were on the other side than Nick saw the bank's sign just ahead and dashed off again. The woman looked at me as if to say,'Do you want me to go after him again?' but I said. 'No. I know where he's going this time.'

Thankfully I was right. Nick screeched to a stop outside the bank - and I drew up moments later and politely tapped on the glass door. Vaughan came to the door straight away.

Unfortunately my long shot didn't pay off. He couldn't be spared. It seemed that I was on my own.

I remember making for a potential shortcut that would bring me out closer to the car park, but only if I didn't cross at the lights. Crossing properly was beyond me at this point. I simply picked up Nick and tucked him under my arm, then pushed the fully laden stroller (Chris and curtain rod) across the road, right through the tyre store that backed onto the car park - and didn't pause until I'd reached the car.

I remember puffing and blowing as I stuffed the two of them into their car seats and almost karate chopping Nick across the tummy to get him to bend in the middle. I can still feel how my glasses steamed up from the heat and the pure stress of it all - and lastly, I recall sitting in the driver's seat, looking at my flushed face in the mirror and wondering if I was about to go into labour for my troubles.

I don't remember how I got us all home safely, but I did - although I think it scarred me for life.

However, it was not all bad news. My friend sewed the curtains for me the next day and I put them up straight away. We all moved bedrooms too, and the baby's room was finally ready to go - which was just as well, because less than a week later, I did go into labour - at work.

But that's another story.

Random notes

My boys turned twenty-two last week. On the 13th September to be precise.

We went out to dinner to a local Mexican restaurant to celebrate. It was Nick's choice. Chris didn't join us, but we arranged a birthday cake for him at his group home on the day, which he would probably enjoy more than eating out any way. He's not much of a one for lingering over a meal. He prefers to eat and then go home immediatetly.

Me? I like to chat.

Andrea and Rob, her fiancé, joined us and we had a very pleasant meal together, even though it was a miserably cold night out. It might be the start of Spring here now, but there was snow in the air that night.

Believe it or not, Launceston has two Mexican restaurants. See! We do have some culture after all. We're not all Bogans. (US equivalent: Red necks)

Now that Andrea has a regular job, she's been saving up to buy herself her own car. She found one last week and it only cost her $600 because it needed some work done on the engine. It's a 1999 Hyundai wagon and it's in great shape in every other respect. Rob and his father are both petrol heads, (unlike the men in my life - sigh) and they reckon it will be worth 6 grand when they're done with it. She seems to have gotten herself a very good bargain. Lucky girl.

Now all she has to do is find time to get her licence, which currently is easier said than done.

That will mean that the el cheapo '87 Mazda 626 hatch that I bought for her and Nick nearly two years ago for 'learning to drive' purposes will be taken over solely by Nick - once he has HIS licence.

I know. I know. This shouldn't be taking two years....

Anyway, he's going to re-sit his driving test next week and in anticipation of a better result this time, I finally had the front guard that has been crumpled since Jan 09 fixed. (There's a bit of a story that goes with that, but all I'll say is that it involved a badly botched three-point turn, too much speed and an unfortunately placed tree.

Anyway the car has been fixed now, thanks to a retired panel beater who lives nearby. It only cost a couple of hundred dollars to have a 2nd hand replacement guard ($60) fitted and spray painted. While he was at it he fixed the side mirror on my car too. Frankly, this fellow is a gem and I plan to put him on speed dial. I have a terrible habit of backing into things, you see - not recently, mind. But it doesn't hurt to be prepared.

Oh. This week was a big week for my nephew, David Ward, too. He is an actual, honest-to-goodness playwright - at the grand old age of 19. His play is called Sand, and it premiered in Geelong this week. He wrote it, co-directed it, stars in it and received a substantial grant from a local Arts Council last year to stage it.

He wants to go to Drama school next year, possibly NIDA in Sydney or WAPA in WA. I'm confident he'll do really well for himself if he can get in too. (Mel Gibson's alma mater is NIDA)

I wish I could get over to see it, but the timing is all wrong for me, what with my trip and all.

It was a bit of a family affair actually. His father did the sets and his mother ( my sister) the costumes. Since it's set on a desert island and only has a cast of three, I guess that's not too much of a stretch.

Nevertheless I'm a very proud aunt.

Now in exactly one week I will be heading off to Italy. I'm starting to get really excited. But amidst that I'm very conscious of what could go wrong too - but trying not to dwell on it.

I've just organised myself a tour in Florence that will include the Vasari corridor, which is in the Uffizi gallery. Apparently it's really quite special. Watch this space for details, I guess.

I do plan to keep a diary of sorts while I'm away. I'm not promising that I'm going to post it, but I will make an effort to record the details and upload pictures when I can get to a computer.

During my preparations I found a trip diary I wrote during a holiday to the UK 25 years ago. I was surprised how many hidden memories it triggered. (And it wasn't badly written either, if I do say so myself.)

If I can do the same this time, I'll be pretty happy.

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Next time I want to tell you a true story that came out of the boys' birthday reminiscences.

It involved a stinking hot Summer's day, a twin stroller, an old- fashioned department store, a heavily pregnant me, a five foot curtain rod - and a hyper-active 3 and a half year old called Nick.

You could say it was a recipe for disaster.

Nick tells me he doesn't remember any of this.

I'll never forget it.